five things you know (and one thing you don't)
by ayoungfool
Summary: Bellarke: She had five estates and a castle. He had a defiant sister and handed down breeches. (But she didn't know and he really didn't want to tell her.)
1. First

**a/n –** I GOT A LAPTOP AY. Also, this is completely 100% inspired by a gifset by klarolinedaily. I mean, it wasn't Bellarke but I Bellarke'd it…?...also the era of the story is inspired by 12 Years A Slave, which I saw aaages ago but it came into my head. Idk.

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_First. He touches you and you light on fire. Your wrist blazes where his fingers meet your skin. The burns don't show, but it's hard to breathe with ash in your lungs. It's so hard to breathe. You're suffocating daily._

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She hates it. The tight corsets, the fake laughter, the endless mentions of the 'm' word. Why should she get married so young anyway? Well, she's not (considered) young but she is most definitely not old. She's not exactly thrilled with her choices either. They might as well all be faceless (they'd certainly be easier to look at) because every single one of them is the same. Rich, arrogant, _boring_. Dull. All of them. There is not one person with a personality in the room. Which is what she's scowling about when she bumps into _him_.

He hates it. The classy suits, the fake smiles, the smug bastards corrupting his sister's mind. Why couldn't Octavia just listen to him for once in her life? He forbid her to attend because he doesn't want her to be taken advantage of by that rich boy Jasper. She doesn't know how to play their game yet and that'll only get her caught in their trap. He's always thought it unfair that women are outcast for having sex. Men get away with murder. These men, he's sure, would literally. Which is what he's scowling about when he bumps into _her_.

"You don't look too pleased to be here." She addresses him casually. Like he's her _friend_. She'd laugh at the thought if she knew who he was. He knows who she is, of course. Clarke Griffin. The daughter of the host of this party, who also happens to be his employer.

"Neither do you, Princess." Clarke's mouth falls open slightly but she quickly closes it.

"I am not a princess!" She glares at him.

"And I'm no prince, so if you'll excuse me." She blocks his way.

"No. Apologise to me." He chuckles in response, then looks her up and down.

"Or you'll what?"

They glare at each other until someone intervenes.

"Bellamy, you came." Bellamy clenches his fists at Jasper's voice. "Is Octavia here, too?"

Bellamy's eyes widen and his head snaps around to stare at Jasper. "Please tell me that's another one of your stupid jokes."

"Why are you so rude?" Bellamy ignores her.

"Where's Octavia, Jasper?"

He holds up his palms. "I haven't seen her, I swear."

Bellamy glances around frantically.

"I'll ask people if they've seen her." Jasper disappears into the crowd.

Bellamy heads the other direction.

"What does she look like?"

"What are you doing?" He stops to stare at her.

"Assisting you."

"No you aren't."

"Yes, I am."

He glares at her before scowling and hurrying on. She trots after him, lifting up her dress slightly to move faster.

"Besides, are four eyes not better than two?"

"You don't even know what we're–_I'm_ looking for."

"So tell me."

He opens his mouth to respond but is cut off.

"Who is your gentleman friend, Clarke?"

Clarke nods at her friend Raven, hooks her arm through Bellamy's and smirks. "This is Bellamy. He just promised me a dance. Didn't you, Bell?"

He grinds his teeth together as he's tugged toward the dance floor. To her surprise, he wraps one arm around her and slips his fingers through hers with the other. As her feet move on autopilot she finds her gaze unable to leave his eyes. She blinks rapidly noticing he had spoken.

"I beg your pardon?"

Bellamy pauses, glances down, whispers. "Am I doing this right?"

Clarke beams. "Well, you haven't stepped on my feet yet."

He snorts and they continue to move in rhythm to the music, Octavia forgotten in those few minutes.


	2. Second

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_Second. It hurts to watch him. He shines. He's brighter than the sun, he's too beautiful for your eyes. It's hard to look at him. It's even harder to look away from him. You're going blind._

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It's nice. Its smooth swaying, carefully placed feet and slightly sweaty palms. But it's nice, and Clarke likes that. She likes that he stays for a full song and doesn't pull away immediately after. She likes it up until the loud piercing scream echoes through the ball room.

Then there's loud whispers and guards rushing off. Clarke frantically scans the room – Raven, Finn, her mom, Kane, her dad – before her wide eyes fall to Bellamy.

"It doesn't sound like her." She thinks he says it more to reassure himself than her but it oddly soothes her anyway. Not that that makes sense. She's never even met the girl yet the thought of that being her scream makes her heart race and saliva build up in her throat.

"Perhaps she snuck out to go somewhere else?" She suggests. He hopes so. He hopes that he'll open their rickety brown door and she'll be sprawled out across the tatty red carpet, lazily holding a stick impaling a marshmallow over her poor attempt of a fire. All of those things screamed _Octavia_– but hopefully that wasn't Octavia's scream.

"Yeah." He manages to whisper while his eyes bore into the darkness of the hallway where the Guards are conversing. Clarke examines his face. His tanned skin, the thick dark locks of hair that fall on his forehead, his large red lips and his sad shining eyes. Clarke's eyes fall to his cheeks. She begins to count the cute little freckles. Her eyes jump to meet his when he suddenly turns to look at her.

"Clarke–" Bellamy's staring at her and so is everyone else. Clarke, Clarke, Clarke. His voice echoes in her head. _Clarke_–

"Oh my god." She whispers, hand slapping against her mouth as they move his motionless body across the room, his white eyes staring into space. "Wells."

As her knees buckle and her breathing turns frantic, he's there. He's holding her up. She's clutching his hand. She feels as if she should push him away, straighten her shoulders and keep walking. She's strong. She's Clarke Griffin. She's going to matter someday. She's going to be a leader. She's supposed to be posed, pristine and perfect.

Then she looks at him. Bellamy. She doesn't even know his last name. Doesn't know his sister. Doesn't know why he looks so concerned. But she's really glad he is, because that means she's not the only one feeling _this_.

This connection. This spark of intrigue and– No, Clarke. What are you doing? He's just a boy. Just a very pretty, very strange, very mysterious boy.

"Clarke?" He's worried about her – concerned about her _feelings _– and he really doesn't know why. He should be storming the place, breaking down doors to look for Octavia. But he catches the pale princess. Why? Because she's pretty?

He hopes so.

"Bell–" And then he appears.

"Clarke? Are you alright?" He grabs her (too roughly, in Bellamy's opinion) arms and helps her to her feet. Bellamy straightens, lets go (slowly).

"Yes, Finn. All limbs intact." She is pulled into his chest.

"We will find the culprit, Clarke. I swear." She wants to say, 'Was I on the floor so long that I missed your five years of Guard training?'.

But she's Clarke Griffin. And she smiles. And she nods. And then she looks around for Bellamy, who appears to have vanished into thin air.

Because that's what he was thinking, too. He _could_ stay. But she's Clarke Griffin. And she's not his sister. And she's certainly not going to be his anything else.

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**a/n –** time jump in the next one.


	3. Third

a/n - i have failed you. but it's my birthday tomorrow so forgive me?

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_Third. Your ears are tuned to his voice. You could pick him out in a sea of thousands. His voice makes pretty singers who sing pretty songs sound dull. His voice makes everything else sound ugly._

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Wells' funeral is _wrong_. There is people crying that she is sure he'd never met. There is black ribbons dangling from the ceiling and too many tables with too fancy foods. It is all _wrong_. Wells wouldn't have wanted this to be his send-off. His memorial. (Because they seem to have forgotten it is _his_ and not _theirs_.) So Clarke does something no one would believe her capable of.

She runs.

There is no rain, which disappoints her. The sun shines above her. She glares at it. It would be so much easier if it was raining. She could pretend it was raindrops instead of teardrops that flowed down her cheeks. It was raining yesterday. Why could they not have his funeral then? Or the day before that? Or the week before that? It's as if they waited for the sunniest day of the year. Clarke sits slumped against a rock, her pretty black dress stained with grass and her heart filling with hatred.

"You alright, lady?" Clarke doesn't look up. She continues staring at the grass and trying to breathe. The stranger mutters under his breath then lifts Clarke up, supporting her arms.

He drags her (as gently as he can) toward something that casts a large shadow and after a few steps (eleven) she lets her eyelids fall shut. She hears everything though. The shuffle of the stranger's feet and the clip clop of horses' hooves. The clang of metal hitting metal and the loud voices. She recognises _him_ the second he speaks. She jumps up and the stranger looks at her with wide eyes.

"Bellamy." She whispers.

"Oh, good. You know Bellamy. I can dump you on him, then." He moves toward the voices.

"No!" She grabs his arm. He furrows his eyebrows. "He cannot see me like–_weak_."

The stranger smirks slightly. She licks her lips and feels her face heat up.

"I am Clarke Griffin. Do you know of somewhere I could freshen up?"

"John Murphy. Follow me, Princess."

"I am _not_ a princess!"

"Whatever you say, Princess."


End file.
